


an end but the start of all things

by acemartinblackwood (semnai)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post MAG160, Post-Apocalypse, canon-typical JonMartin flirt bickering, post MAG160 impacting Jon? Haven't heard of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-20 22:43:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21289376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semnai/pseuds/acemartinblackwood
Summary: Its the end of the world, and Jon and Martin are (mostly) doing just fine.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 21
Kudos: 312





	an end but the start of all things

**Author's Note:**

> Nearly titled this "Wasteland, Baby" but IDK. Have some fluffy, softe post-apocalyptic JonMartin. Hope you enjoy!!
> 
> Un-beta'd.

Among their haul today was a small, beat-up battery-powered radio. Jon didn’t have too high of hopes for it picking anything up, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Especially after he heard Martin’s breath catch when they first came across it laying by some rusty tools in a storage shed (“Oh Jon, _look_”), and after he saw Martin’s pleased smile as he immediately strove forward to pick it up, examine it, and then stuff it in the backpack he had on. Jon was focused on their more immediate needs, food and medical supplies for Martin, clothes, and petrol.

After they arrived back to the safe house, Jon began sorting through the meager supplies he was able to salvage: a few jumpers for both him and Martin, some packets of biscuits, several tinned cans of tuna, and a book that sounded not too terrible. By the time he looked up again, Martin had already gotten the back of the radio off, taken out the batteries, and inserted a few of the (many) extra tape recorder batteries in their place, before slotting the back in again. Tongue between his teeth and brow furrowed, Martin was now concentrated on turning the dials of the radio, but Jon could hear nothing but static. Jon opened his mouth, inwardly shook his head, and headed over to encourage the glowing embers in the fireplace.

It was getting dark again outside, but it did that frequently. Dark, light, dark, light, with no steady cycle, no sun, no moon, no day, no night, only the Eye. The temperature would fluctuate too, capricious as the entities themselves, from the bitter cold of the Lonely to the scorching heat of the Desolation, ebbing and rising in turn. Maps no longer made sense, and the roads themselves seemed to re-arrange themselves every time they left the house. Even when they were inside, it was impossible to escape this new world’s putrid, rotting stink, and with every breath dust would settle in the back of their throats.

Once the fire was roaring again, Jon settled on the couch with his new book, a blanket folded over his lap. After more than five minutes, Jon heard Martin give a disgruntled sigh. He looked up to see Martin giving the radio a scowling, disappointed look, one he was rather glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of.

Martin sighed deeply again, and fell backwards dramatically so that he was laying on the floor, before looking up at Jon on the couch imploringly. Jon tried (and only mostly succeeded) to hide a fond, but amused smile.

Martin’s eyes narrowed, realizing _exactly_ what was going on, as he had proven himself to be an expert in reading Jon’s facial expressions. Picking up a stray pillow on the floor, he threw it at Jon.

“Hey!” Jon exclaimed, as he ducked out of the way.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me, you know what you did,” Martin said accusingly, but with a barely suppressed grin.

“I apologize,” Jon said easily. “Now what seems to be the problem?”

Martin rolled his eyes, and sat back up. “Oh you _know_. Stupid radio. I had really hoped I could pick up at least _one_ station.”

“Martin-- I highly doubt any radio tower out there is still functional, but—I mean—we know what’s going on everywhere? We don’t need safety briefings or anything to tell us that?”

Martin raised his eyebrows. “Safety briefings—what? No,” he said, shaking his head. “I wanted music.”

“Oh. Well, that would have been nice to have so we’re not hearing…” Jon gestured towards the window where they both could hear the muted sound of distorted screams and raised voices, the Stranger’s doing.

“Yeah, I mean—well--” Martin looked down at his hands, his cheeks and tips of his ears dusted pink.

“What?”

Martin looked back up at him. “I had kind of hoped—with the music, hm. That we could… you know. Dance?”

“D—dance?” Now Jon could feel his face grow warm.

“Yeah, like a slow dance, nothing fancy. It had just seemed like it would be...” Martin gave a sardonic smile, as he gestured vaguely towards Jon. “You know, nice.” Martin pushed the radio away. “Dumb idea, I know.”

Jon quietly considered Martin’s words, before putting aside the book, pushing off the blanket, and getting up. Martin looked up at him as Jon held out his hand. “I think I’m supposed say something like, ‘Would you like this dance?’”

For one second Martin looked up at him mouth agape before he broke out in a giddy, warm smile, and grasped Jon’s hand. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” Jon assured him, and pulled him up so they were standing face to face.

Martin took the initiative, sliding his arms around Jon’s waist, pulling them slightly closer together. Jon placed an arm around Martin’s neck, sliding his fingers through Martin’s now longish hair, and another arm across Martin’s back. Martin began swaying them gently, and Jon followed his lead. Jon looked into Martin’s eyes, and he shivered slightly with the intensity that Martin looked back.

“Is this okay?” Martin asked quietly.

Jon leaned in to give Martin a soft, chaste kiss, before resting his head on Martin’s upper chest. “Its more than okay. This—this _is_ nice. You were right,” he said, raising his head up so that his lips ghosted Martin’s neck, and he could feel Martin clutch at him tighter.

They held each other, dancing to no music at all, while the sounds of the apocalypse continued on in the background. But as they danced, their world seemed to narrow until it was only comprised of seemingly insignificant details: Jon gently tugging on Martin’s hair, Martin’s steady heartbeat that Jon could hear as his head lay on Martin’s chest, the sound of their feet shuffling against the ratty carpet, the crackling of the fire, Martin’s hands assuredly holding Jon like an anchor.

At least they have this, Jon thought. This was exactly where they belonged in this moment and for forever. They may be without the proper supplies, without a plan for their future and the future of the world, but at least they have this.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are love. I have a few other OTP prompts I'd like to tackle but encouragement helps. :) I'm acemartinblackwood on Tumblr, feel free to catch up with me there to scream about JonMartin!


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